Camping Bagatelle, Avignon (the return day 4)

Just before ten last night John went up to the sanitaires to wash up. Other campers were fumbling about in the dark using the torches on their phones. He went to the reception, spoke to the security man who arrived and flicked the trip switch. All sorted. Thank God the English are here! Everyday we order our bread and pain chocolates for the next day. This morning a rude man pushed in front of Angela in the shop expecting to buy bread. 'No reserve, no baguette'. That was him told.

Chores done, we went into town bought lunch, and like yesterday sat in the shaded area in the garden by the church next to the tourist office. After we planned to visit one of the many museums near to the papal palace but became distracted by a street performer who mesmerized us.

He played the trumpet, electric mouth organ and sang. Sometimes his dog sang  with him.  He played 'fly me to the moon' and 'summertime', singing the lyrics in English, but also moody, sultry French songs which a young couple stepped up to dance too.

Once again the day warm, we were happy to sit in the shade of the plane trees to watch and listen. The museum would have to wait for another day. A week ago, we arrived in Avignon not expecting to return so soon after we left. In the seven nights we have stayed here we have eaten fantastic delicious pizza from the food truck outside the campsite four times. Tonight the guys, all smiles to see us once again greeted John as le patron, the boss.

Eating by the river, watching mont ventoux fade into the darkening sky as the moon rose over the church we knew we'd always remember these beautiful warm evenings here.

Camping Bagatelle, Avignon (the return day 3)

Another beautiful day was forecast for today. Yesterday the temperature had reached 25c, Today we were to expect 27c. That'll do us.

(Angela eating breakfast sporting the stitches in her head) 

Firstly though we needed to arrange for a nurse to remove Angela's stitches. Within a couple of hours of telephoning Saga a nurse was appointed to visit her a the campsite.

We just had time to visit the nearby pharmacy to pick up an antiseptic wash and sodium chloride solution for her to wash her injured knee.

Whilst in the town we photographed a French lady with her poodles. We couldn't let the opportunity pass by. Whilst Avignon was once again inundated with visitors, she just sat and watched the world go by. The male nurse was excellent. Removed Angela's stitches. Checked the wound and gave advice on aftercare. We asked him to take a look at her knee and he gave instruction on how to care for it going forward, even providing a selection of dressings should there be any complications. For now keep it uncovered but clean. We are now really glad we are booked in the 'coconut' as John now calls it. As we are on a touring holiday Saga won't probably cover the cost of the cabin, but we are hoping they may pay the difference between the cabin and the pitch fee for our tent. All the medical people we haven spoken with have highlighted a clean environment is necessary to cut the risk of infection. We may stay here until Friday. And why not, the weather is great, this evening as we sit out the temperature is over 20c. Another glass of wine Angela thinks. Purely medicinal of course.

(Angela looking a lot better with her stitches removed!) 

Camping Bagatelle, Avignon (return visit day 2)

A chill northerly wind blew through the campsite this morning, but in the pockets of sunlight the early morning sun was warm. Between us we breakfasted like kings on cheese omelette with freshly picked herbs, a baguette campagne, bonne maman strawberry jam, pain chocolate and thick creamy passion fruit yoghurt. We looked forward to tomorrow when we could eat it all again. We had made the right decision returning to Avingon. Angela felt safe and happy to be near a large hospital. We will stay as long as we need too until her knee is properly healed and her stitches removed. We have always envied people we see staying in the pods on campsites, particularly when it rained. We were now the ones to envy.

Being Sunday the town was quiet. We stopped for coffee before food shopping and then after lunch walked alongside the river stopping at La Bavette for an ice lolly and to rest Angela's leg.

The atmosphere was relaxed, the French enjoying a sunny Sunday afternoon, and us part of it. As we relaxed in deck chairs we watched a man fishing across the other side of the river and marvelled at the picture postcard sky above the town. Perfect. If we have to stay here a few more days we know we will find more areas to explore, and are looking forward to it. Thank God we didn't end up holed up on some terrible campsite in the middle of nowhere.

Camping Bagatelle, Avignon (return visit)

Our train this morning left at eight-fifty. The railway station was only five minutes away. What could possibly go wrong? Well trying to find the station entrance, and then realizing the platform we needed was only accessible by stairs. Lots of stairs. So John had to carry the fully loaded bikes up them. Due to this we arrived on the platform with minutes to spare. Around fifteen minutes later we were back in Avingon. It had taken us nearly three hours to cycle from there yesterday. Perhaps backpacking by train would be an option for future travelling?

By ten we'd booked back into our coco sweet. The receptionist ordered a taxi and by eleven thirty we were in the hospital emergency department. Within a short while Angela was taken through a doorway and John didn't see her again for five and a half hours.

Examination, blood test, X-ray all done, she was finally turfed out of her own room. Word was out, an English person was in the department. The lady in radiologist was beyond excitable. 'You are English. From England?' Apparently so. The department soon filled up, people were standing and sitting on the floor. When she arrived Angela was one of six. Four sat engrossed on their smartphones whilst Angela and a lady in her eighties sat staring at the numerous posters on contraception which was of no use to either of us! The day resulted in Angela being released with instructions to see a nurse every two days to change her dressing. Time to give in. We'd have to return home. Or would we. Nonsense. The nurse assigned to dress Angela's wound wanted it left with no covering. It would heal better. A drop of iodine, of course would help. We are now expecting to stay in Avingon for three night's to give Angela's knee time to heal, and hopefully be able to arrange for a nurse to visit and remove the stitches from her forehead. It will be a week tomorrow since her accident. All she wants to do now is get well and journey on to see the flamingos.

Camping Tarterin, Tarascon

We'd become comfortable in our coco sweet cabin, but the time had come to move on. Angela felt very anxious, tears pricked the back of her eyes. She was cross with the French cyclist who'd run into her, and cross with herself for feeling nervous and that she could not ride her bike with confidence.

So we took it slowly, planning to cycle just twenty-five miles. Soon the route steered away from the river taking us through a flat open landscape of grapevines and olive trees. The earth dry and dusty, baked hard by the sun.  A sky of metallic blue hung overhead. We were glad the temperature was in the mid twenties, we were so exposed we would have fried otherwise. The repeating landscape soon became boring and we were pleased to arrive at Tarascon just after two.

The town was pretty, the campsite not so. But as we always say, it's just somewhere to erect our tent and take a shower. The pitches were uneven, the ground hard and stony. Hardly perfect.

Other cyclists began to arrive and soon it didn't feel so bad. Angela showered and changed the dressing on her knee. It did not look good. An infection was showing so we sought advice. The pharmacist in the town wanted Angela to attend a hospital. The nearest main one Avingon where we had just cycled from. 

Pizzas bought. Too large for us to finish so we shared them with the other cyclists, we went on to book a train back early in the morning. We were so close to the Mediterranean, our destination. Would we make it?

Camping Bagatelle, Avignon (Day 3)

A lie in. Unheard off when we're on a cycling trip. It was just before nine-thirty when we rose this morning. Angela had had a bad night. Despite much pain relief all her injuries really hurt, and as the previous night she couldn't halt her memory from reliving the accident. Today she felt wobbly, anxious, vulnerable, nervous about setting off again tomorrow. Worried she'd fall from her bicycle again. The physical injuries would heal, she hoped the mental ones would fade quickly.

Today we walked to the old city of Avignon. It is our view from the campsite and we wanted to see it up close.

The Papal Palace dominates the skyline. Narrow streets led us to courtyards, gardens and spectacular views across and down the Rhone river, towards the Alps and beyond.

We lunched in the shade of plane tree, John pleased with a fantastic hot meal of chicken, lemon and rice from the local Carrefour supermarket. Back to boring baguettes tomorrow. Across from the campsite the Pont Saint-Benezet has intrigued us. It used to span the river, but no more. Unlike us we paid to visit it, pleased to qualify for the concession. 

After many hours of exploring we headed back to our little cabin. Check out is at ten in the morning, and the cabin has to be cleaned by us. This evening though we returned to the little street food van outside the campsite alongside the river.

Ate vegetarian pizza and besides our own beverages were served complimentary mint tea made with fresh mint, and lots of sugar which made it taste delicious. The two Algerian guys who run the van were all smiles when we paid. On both occasions the food has been excellent, so we were happy to leave a tip. As last night ate neighbours are nearly all German. We were the only English but another vehicle has arrived a short while ago. Tomorrow we will leave Avignon with both sad and happy memories. Unfortunately John won't be leaving with a large carved wooden cicada which he claimed he'd find space for in one of his pannier bags or the ladies lingerie he'd seen in the window of very posh shop. It was totally unsuitable for cycling! Angela needs body armour the way she's going.